


Peace on Earth (Gold Star Edition)

by waldorph



Series: giddy whirl [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waldorph/pseuds/waldorph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel Berry is sick and tired of her husband in warzones.  Obviously the answer is to create  world peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace on Earth (Gold Star Edition)

He gets back from Iran. Iraq. Some place hot and desert-filled with people who shoot a shitton of stuff into his boys and girls. Whatever. He's back, in the dear sweet US of A.

She's in her office, which is... you know. Weird. And a bad sign, and he wonders if he has time to grab a beer before dealing with this. Then again, he's been gone for six months... there's probably no beer in the house.

Motherfucker.

"I have decided that it is unacceptable that you are away from me for long spans of time," she says, looking up at him when he leans in the door. She's wearing pearls. Oh, fuck. Now she wants to run for office, he can feel it: she got her Grammy, her Oscar, and her Tony (okay, singular, not so much) and now she's going to like, run for president.

"I- that's the job, Rachel. Which... we knew when we were seventeen, so..."

"No, and I realize that. As long as there are military conflicts, you will be taken away from me. Especially given that you've seen fit to become very competent and marine units seem to request you."

Okay, see, shit like that, she shouldn't know. He doesn't tell her that, and she's not cleared to know it, but what the fuck, it's Rachel, and she probably browbeat it out of the fucking Chiefs of Staff.

He really needs to be drunk for this. Or carrying. She's not mad, she's just... steely. Resolved. Like she was when she was planning the wedding, or working on... everything.

She nods, and puts her pen down. "So I have decided to create peace in the Middle East."

He stares at her.

She looks back expectantly, and he remembers that she's 33 with more clout than anyone should have and she's the reason they have five houses and she's running her own record label and oh, motherfuck, there's going to be peace in the Middle East. He needs to call Artie. Or maybe knock her up.

And then, with a sinking feeling, he looks over at the trophy shelf. Sure enough there is a bright pink star with the words "Nobel Peace Prize" in metallic gold ink, with a gold star next to them.

"Right," he says, weary. "Well. Okay then. Let's see what you've got."

"I would be willing to share credit," she says. "We could be a husband-wife duo."

He doesn't point out that they are a husband-wife duo, just grins, kisses her determined lips, and grabs a chair to help her figure out how to get the Israelis and Palestinians to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.


End file.
